Page 36

Sophie

My sewing machine, needles, presser feet and cotton reels are neatly packed into boxes, ready to be lugged to the hire van.

It’s not far away; I managed to park a few doors down from the shop.

I need to tidy up before meeting Flora for a drink.

My phone vibrates on the table. That’s probably Flora, warning me she’s running late.

But the familiar cold, sick feeling returns.

It’s an email with the strapline You’re fake . I click it open.

You moved on, but I couldn’t. I’ll never forgive you! I hope you fail at quilting – at everything. Your whole life. You deserve Nothing and No One .

Trevor! He hasn’t contacted me for almost two weeks but he’s back. A flurry of notifications lands – this time from a new follower commenting on my Instagram page, beneath the recent photo I posted of my North Star-patterned quilt.

Buyer beware! Do not use this seller. She can’t be trusted.

She is a charlatan. Avoid!!!

Do not buy anything from this fraud!! She will let you down. She lets everyone down.

Oh God! When will he stop? Potential customers could be scared off by these false accusations. Quickly, I delete my quilt picture and block his account, but I’m not ignoring his latest email. I tap out my reply.

You’re completely wrong. I never forgot. I loved her so much. I think about her every single day. I’m sorry about everything.

I press ‘send’ and wait. The bell above the door rings, making me jump. I didn’t remember to lock up when Bernard left. An elderly man steps inside and a dog barks.

‘Walter!’ I press a hand to my chest. ‘You scared me.’

‘Sorry. I slipped out to buy milk and saw your light was on. I thought I’d say hello.’ He unclips Chico’s lead. ‘Unless it’s a bad time?’

‘It’s good,’ I say, breathing out heavily. ‘I could do with the distraction.’

‘Problems with Adam?’

‘No. He’s driving back to Devon with Wren tomorrow to stay at his mum’s. I’m hoping that spending time with them will help increase his number.’

Walter’s eyes narrow. ‘And mine? Dare I ask?’

‘It hasn’t dropped – you have those additional days.’

‘Phew. That was another reason for dropping in. I was worried the clock might have speeded up, so to speak. I have to fit in more with the grandkids this week. They have a wish list of the zoo, back to The Wave, and a trip to Bath to “see where the Romans swam naked”.’

‘Sounds fun!’

I jump as my phone vibrates. My hands tremble as I open the new email. It’s a one-word reply: Liar!

‘Bad news?’

‘A guy from my past keeps emailing,’ I admit. ‘I tried to stop his mum’s countdown years ago, but it went horribly wrong. He still blames me for her death.’

‘Have you tried talking to him?’

‘No way! Trevor’s messages are bad enough. I don’t want to hear his accusations on the phone or face to face.’

Walter eases himself on to a stool, and Chico lies at his feet. ‘It sounds like Trevor remains in a great deal of pain. Perhaps if you explain exactly what you did, and answer the questions that keep him awake at night, it will give him closure. He might be able to move on with his life.’

‘Hmmm.’

‘You sound like the delightful Adam.’

My mouth curves into a smile. ‘I’m that decisive?’

‘Think about it, my dear.’ He winces as he shifts position. ‘As we know, life is short. We all need to tie up loose ends before it’s too late and make amends.’

‘Will you ever stop being wonderfully wise?’

‘In sixteen days, apparently.’

‘That’s not funny!’ I bite my lip. ‘In fact, it’s terribly, terribly sad.’

‘It’s anything but. I’m eighty-six and have enjoyed a full life.

When you think about it, it’s a miracle any of us are born – the stars that must align for our parents to meet, the number of cells that has to divide and multiply for us to be conceived.

Most importantly of all, I’ve been loved by Hellie and have loved in return.

I’ve tried to live the remainder of my life more, not less, in her honour.

I’m making myself and my family happy while I can.

Talking of which, I must get back for our movie night. ’

He slowly stands, leaning heavily on his stick. Chico jumps up, planting his paws on Walter’s leg.

‘Can you see how long other species have left to live?’ Walter asks, patting him.

‘No, sorry. Only humans.’

He continues stroking his dog. ‘No matter. I know the answer already –Chico has a long and joyful life ahead of him.’

‘I’m sure he has.’

Walter straightens and kisses me on each cheek. ‘Goodbye, Sophie. We’ve only known each other for the shortest time, but our friendship has given me the greatest pleasure.’

‘I feel the same. I’ll meet you—’

Tears prick my eyes. This could be the last time we see each other in person unless I return to Bristol before Friday, 18 April. But I sense Walter is saying goodbye now. It’s only right he spends the remaining time with his family.

‘Goodbye, Walter.’ I hug him tightly. ‘I’ll miss you so much. Thank you for encouraging me to appreciate all the little moments with Adam and Wren.’ I stumble over my words. ‘And for helping me think about my numbers in a different way. You’re the best.’

‘I know, I know,’ he says, patting my back. ‘Thank you. ’

Teary mascara was streaked down my face after Walter left and I couldn’t face going to a noisy bar, so Flora’s come over. She promised to help me get ready for my trip to Modbury tomorrow, but she’s lying on my bedroom floor, working her way through our bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc.

‘I’m totally obsessionable about this.’ She holds up the picture of Adam and Wren at the zoo. ‘And this!’ She gestures to another framed photo of them near the red panda, giving an ‘aww face’.

‘Firstly, “obsessionable” is not a word,’ I point out, nudging the Sellotape and scissors closer with my foot. ‘And secondly, you’re supposed to be wrapping, not obsessing.’

‘But they’re too cute for words,’ she says, sipping her wine. ‘And don’t get me started on this!’

She studies the photobook I’ve created from the zoo, Walter’s party and our sewing lessons, while I tick off items on my checklist. My cutting tools, iron, masking tape and wadding are packed.

My appliqué threads aren’t in my main sewing basket, but I remember the old box in my wardrobe beneath the sealed bags of quilts.

Dust motes spiral when I pull off the lid; I haven’t opened this in years.

Inside, I find templates, braid and felt that could be useful for Wren’s and Adam’s panels, as well as a bag of multicoloured bouclés, metallic rayons and viscose knits.

My heart thuds as I spot a border collie print at the bottom of the box.

I pull out the green-and-light-brown log cabin design.

This belonged to Joan! She started making it for Trevor, featuring his dog.

The strips of material Joan gave me to stitch around the panel are still pinned into place; I couldn’t face completing it after her death.

Walter thinks Trevor is suffering and needs closure.

Could a memento of his mum be what he needs to finally come to terms with her death?

I could finish sewing it after Flora’s gone.

‘Okay, I’m officially dead from cute overload.’ Flora closes the photobook and flops on to her back. ‘You’re all off-the-charts adorable!’

‘Enough with the cuteness and wrap the presents, please.’

‘One more cute thing about the three of you,’ Flora says, rolling on to her side. ‘You, Wren and SSD will make a lovely family in the future.’

‘SSD?’

‘Sexy Single Dad.’

I laugh. ‘Adam will love your abbreviation. But we’re not... it’s, well, complicated.’

Walter’s right. I do sound like Adam.

‘Thank you,’ I add.

It’s true – 3 is a wonderful number, but I mustn’t get ahead of myself. All I can think about are 8 digits: 12/04/2025. I have to help Adam live beyond this date.

‘And about complications, I have a teeny-tiny cute confession to make.’ She sits up and takes a large gulp of wine. ‘You’re not going to approve so I’m going to come out with it quickly – I want to get back together with Libby. I think she does too.’

I begin to speak but she talks over me. ‘I know... We both want different things... There’s no future in our relationship... blah blah blah.’

‘That wasn’t what I was going to say.’ I kneel beside her. ‘I was wrong. I think you should go for it with Libby. Take the risk to love and be loved.’

Flora reaches over and feels my forehead. ‘Are you delirious? Should I call for an ambulance?’

‘Very funny! But I mean it, I swear. You should do what makes you happy – live life to the full and enjoy every minute.’

Flora lets out a small, joyful cry and hugs me.

‘You deserve happiness,’ I tell her. ‘We both do.’